


With Love Comes Strange Currencies

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Foster Care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Clarke didn't mean to keep Madi; she was supposed to just have her for a month or two, a trial run of being a trial parent.But she ends up keeping her, and suddenly she's aparent, and she's dealing with all these things she never expected. Like having to contact Lincoln's girlfriend's brother, who has some kind ofdoll hospital.





	With Love Comes Strange Currencies

**Author's Note:**

> After I sent her [this picture](http://the100-news.tumblr.com/post/161246196263/zachmcgowan-wildpipm-and-i-playing-with-some-of), Liz wanted an AU where Bellamy repaired dolls that Roan thought wanted to murder him or something. The main focus of this is about love and family and children, though, so Liz will be deeply disappointed. Roan does perform exorcisms, though, so at least there's that.

Clarke wouldn't say she was exactly prepared to be a parent. Fostering had been something she wanted to _try_ , just to see how she liked it, for a month or two. Her roommate had gotten married, so she had an extra bedroom, a lot of savings, and a kind of vague idea about doing some good in the world. When she read about how many kids need foster parents, she figured she could do it, in brief stretches. She felt capable of being a quick stop for kids who needed one. It seemed like an experiment worth trying. No big deal.

Six months later, and she's still on her first kid, with no plans of giving her up anytime soon. Madi was taken out of a bad home, and in theory, Clarke just had her until her father completed some parenting class. It had seemed like a perfect fit for her first experience as a foster parent, thirty days for the completion of the course and then she could go home.

And then the social worker called and told her that Madi's father had dropped out of the class and signed away his legal rights to his daughter, so they'd need to find a permanent placement for her. They'd given Clarke the option to give her up, but--it had been unthinkable to her then, to tell this little girl whose father just decided he didn't even want to _try_ to keep her that Clarke didn't want her either. She refused to be the second person in the same day to tell Madi she wasn't worth bothering with, which meant her only other option was adopting her herself.

She's never regretted the choice, not for a single second. But sometimes she feels as if she should have prepared more. She _always_ prepares. That's who she is. And the preparation she'd done had been for something quick, something fleeting. She'd thought she was going to be a youth hostel, essentially. 

Being a real parent, though, that was a complete surprise, and she wishes she'd known it was coming this quickly. She wishes she had any friends with children of a comparable age to help out, ones who could relate to her situation. Wells has a daughter, but she's only twenty months old, and hasn't progressed passed the "sticking everything in her mouth" stage of personhood. And she doesn't feel close enough to any of her high-school acquaintances with older children to reach out.

So when Madi is much, much more upset about her doll breaking than Clarke expected, she does the same thing she always does during times of crisis: she puts Madi to bed and gets wine-drunk with whichever of her friends respond to her despair-filled text message.

Tonight, it's Raven, Lincoln, and Monty, which is a good group, and they all have some decent insight.

"I get it," Monty says. "I was really attached to all my action figures. Like, in kind of weird ways? They had independent personalities outside of the characters they were actually based on. And family structures. My Star Trek action figures were bigger than my Star Wars action figures, so they were the parents. And then my dog ate my Geordi LaForge and it was, like, traumatic. He wasn't just another Geordi. He had a wife and kids. I couldn't buy a new one and just put him into the family." He pauses. "Okay, well, my mom _did_ get me a new one, but Tasha Yar knew he was a clone from the Mirror Universe and they never trusted him."

"Wow," says Raven. "That's got to be something a shrink would have a field day with, right?"

"I'm just saying, sometimes toys aren't really replaceable," he says. "Even if you can get the same one, it's not really the _same_."

Raven nods. "That's true. Do you know why she liked it so much? Maybe it's special."

"It's one of the dolls she had when I adopted her," Clarke admits. It makes her feel a little prickly, always. The part of her that wants Madi to have all the nicest things, the part of her who thinks that shiny and new is always _better_ , that part of her can't help bristling at the way Madi clings to things that Clarke would have thrown out. But Madi loves them, and she understands that too. "I think they're all special."

"What happened to it?" Lincoln asks. He's been quiet, looking at his wine with an oddly thoughtful expression. "What kind of damage?"

"This girl who doesn't like her at school got a hold of it," says Clarke, fists clenching as she remembers. She might have yelled at basically everyone in the entire administration she could find until they said the girl would be punished appropriately and wouldn't be allowed to do it again. "She cut off all the hair and then, like--ripped out the eyes? It was fucked up."

"Jesus," says Raven.

"Yeah, like--even if it wasn't her favorite, I'd probably have nightmares. And she dragged it through the gravel some, so it's just--it's bad."

"Did you get it back?" asks Lincoln.

"Yeah. She still has it in her room, because she doesn't want to abandon it, but--it's so creepy."

"Well, if you have a high enough tolerance for creepy, I might have a solution. You haven't met Octavia's brother, have you?"

Clarke frowns. "I don't think so. I remember hearing about him a couple times. She was going to give me his number for foster questions because he helped raise her, right? I don't think I ever got it."

"That sounds right. But he can probably help. He runs a doll hospital."

Monty chokes and holds up his hand. "Wait, I'm sorry, what? A _doll hospital_?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna need more information on that," says Raven.

"Well, toy repair, in general. As you said, he did a lot of work raising Octavia, and his mother had him helping her out with her tailoring work from a young age. He ended up doing a lot of repairs on her toys, and he started offering his services online to other parents who needed it, to make some extra money. He did well enough to turn it into a business. But Octavia just always calls it his doll hospital."

"That's actually kind of cute," Raven admits.

"I don't know if she'd really believe me," says Clarke. "Madi. If I send the doll off to get fixed and it comes back looking like new, she might just think I secretly bought a new one."

"The doll equivalent of going to live on a farm upstate, and then a new puppy shows up the next day," Monty agrees.

"He's local," says Lincoln. "Bellamy, I mean. He mostly does online orders, but if you wanted him to do the repairs in person so Madi could see, he'd probably be willing."

"That would be great," she admits. "If you really think he wouldn't mind."

"I'll give you his number. It can't hurt to ask. And even if it's not possible for you to come in, I'm sure he deals with situations like this all the time. He'll probably have some advice for you."

"That's true." She flashes him a grin, "Now I don't know what to do. I honestly wasn't expecting anyone to have actual useful insight. I thought we were just going to drink and have no idea how to deal with this."

He raises his glass. "Sorry to let you down. Next time I'll just make soothing, commiserating noises."

"Yeah, it's the least you can do."

*

Clarke works from home as a graphic design contractor, which means she tends to work way more hours than she would in an actual office, but she likes it, and she has a flexible schedule that allows her to call Octavia's brother as soon as she feels like it's a reasonable hour the next day. After an hour of glancing at her phone every few minutes and wondering if it's early enough yet, she decides that nine o'clock is acceptable and hopes that doll hospitals have regular business hours.

The phone rings through to voice mail, as she probably should have realized it would, and she hangs up because she wasn't really prepared for that, because she _didn't_ realize it would, and she hates leaving voice mails cold. So she gives herself an hour to work, writes up a sample script of the message she'll leave him, and calls back just after ten.

So, of course, this time he picks up, sounding wary when he says, "Hello?" and now she's unprepared for _that_.

Clarke's not a big fan of the phone. It's always a disaster waiting to happen.

"Hi, is this Bellamy--" She scrambles for Octavia's last name; she and Lincoln have been dating for a good eight months, and Clarke really _should_ know this, but mostly she knows that her last name isn't nearly as weird as her first. "Octavia's brother?" she finally settles on.

"This is Bellamy, yeah." He has a nice voice, and even though there's some confusion lingering in it. 

"Hi, this is Clarke Griffin, I'm a friend of Lincoln's? He gave me your number because I'm having a doll emergency." She pauses. "Wow, that sounds so weird. Sorry, I was expecting to get your voice mail again."

That makes him laugh. "Was this somehow going to sound less weird on voice mail?"

"No, but I wouldn't have to hear your reaction to the phrase _doll emergency_."

"Fair enough," he says. "But I assume you're calling me because Lincoln told you that doll emergencies are actually something I get a lot of calls about. Well, emails, usually, but close enough." 

"That would be it, yeah."

"So, what's the emergency?"

"My daughter," she says, the world still tasting strange in her mouth. "She brought her favorite doll to school and a bully gouged its eyes out."

"Jesus," he says. "That's fucked up."

"Right? My bullies just wanted to psychologically undermine me, they didn't mutilate my stuff."

"Sometimes mine mutilated me, but bullying violence is usually pretty gendered," he says, thoughtful. "Guys tend more towards direct physical violence. So, is it just the eyes?"

"The hair also got cut off, and there's some general damage, like--Madi said the girl dragged it through the dirt and mud, so there are scratches. And it wasn't in that great shape to begin with. But it's her favorite and she's insisting she can't give it up because we don't just abandon things when they stop being pretty."

"Well, that's a good lesson, anyway."

"She's a foster kid, I think there might be some projection involved. And this is one of the dolls she brought with her when I adopted her, so--there's some history there too, I think."

"Yeah, I get that. I assume if you're Lincoln's friend, you're local? Or did you just call him up out of the blue and ask if he happened to know anyone who did professional doll repairs?"

"I am local," she says, smiling. "And I just got drunk and cried on him about my flaws as a parent, like a normal person."

"He is really good for drunkenly crying on," Bellamy agrees. "Really broad chest. Very comforting." He clears his throat. "I can give you the address to bring it in. It'll probably take a couple of days, but--"

"That's the other thing."

"What?"

"I'm kind of worried--she's a foster kid, like I said. We're doing pretty well, but she's still got some trust issues, and I'm worried if I just tell her that I sent the doll somewhere to get fixed, she'll think I threw it away and bought her a new one."

"Because you said you could buy her a new one?"

"I thought it would make her feel better!"

"Okay, so--you want to come down? Show her it's a real place?"

"I know it's weird," she says. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine." He clucks his tongue. "I've got a website, you can try showing her that first. You're not the first adult to have this problem. But if you'd rather just bring her down, I don't mind. How old is she?"

"Eight."

"Cool, eight-year-olds are starting to understand logical arguments. I'll text you the website link, talk to her about it, and if you guys want to come by on Saturday, just shoot me a text and let me know."

"What time?"

He pauses. "I'm flexible."

It's not like she knows him, but there's something in his tone that makes her sure. "Are you offering to come in on your day off to give my daughter a tour of your doll hospital?"

"If I didn't want to spend my time and energy making kids feel better about their damaged toys, I wouldn't be running a doll hospital in the first place," he grumbles. "I don't mind. You can tip me after if you want."

"Thank you," she says. "I really appreciate your talking me through this."

"No problem. Text me some pictures of the doll while you're at it."

Madi's stubbornness about the doll extends to bringing it to school with her every day, albeit leaving it in her bag now, to protect it from further damage, so Clarke can't actually do anything other than look at the website Bellamy sent her until Madi gets home.

The website is cute, though. It's clearly designed with children in mind, and Clarke finds herself believing that this really is a somewhat common problem that plenty of parents go through this with their kids. There are a lot of pictures of how the process works, honest about how these are toys that were manufactured and do not have feelings without ignoring how important and real they can be to kids.

There are no pictures of the staff that she can see, but someone's hands keep showing up, and they're extremely nice hands. It's impossible not to notice.

When Madi gets home, Clarke still has the website up on her laptop, and she's got a half-done sketch of an improved logo for it open in Photoshop. 

"Hey, how was school?"

"Okay," says Madi, sounding subdued, and Clarke pats the couch next to her.

"Is Josie still giving you trouble?"

"No, but--" She worries her lip. "She's not giving me trouble really _loud_."

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. She was talking about how _the teacher_ won't let her talk to me, like I'm the one who did something wrong for telling."

"You didn't do anything wrong," says Clarke, putting her arm around Madi. "She's a bully."

"I know." She smiles a little. "Gaia sat next to me at lunch and I gave her half my cookie. I like her."

"That's nice. Do you have Katie?"

"Yeah. I didn't let anyone see her."

"I know. But I've got an idea. You know my friend Lincoln?"

"Uh huh."

"His girlfriend's brother actually runs a doll hospital." 

Madi's look says that she is buying this about as much as Clarke thought she would, and Clarke can't blame her. _Doll hospital_ still sounds unavoidably ridiculous. That should not be a thing. 

"I know, that was my reaction. But I called him today, and it's legit." She pulls the laptop over, showing Madi the homepage. "His parents weren't around either, but I guess by the time it was just him and his sister, he was old enough to take care of her himself. So he used to fix her dolls, and he started doing it for other people to make money. See?"

Madi is browsing the site with a contemplative look on her face, still not quite sold.

"He's here in town," Clarke offers. "He said we could bring Katie by on Saturday, if we want. So you can see if you want him to take care of her."

"We can?"

"Yeah. I'm kind of curious, honestly. I have no idea what a doll hospital is supposed to be like. And he sounded nice, on the phone. So I want to check it out."

"Me too," says Madi. And then, a little softer, "Thanks."

"You're welcome. But you don't have to thank me. Bellamy's going to do all the work."

*

Bellamy says they can come at ten and get a tour and then stick around to watch him finish off a job if they want, which sounds pretty cool. On their way in, they stop by their favorite coffee shop and pick up some breakfast stuff, because, as Clarke explains, it's polite to bring something when someone is doing you a favor.

"What if he doesn't like coffee?" she asks. "I don't like coffee."

"It's still polite. I know _it's the thought that counts_ sounds like something adults say to make you stop asking questions, but it is kind of true, honestly. You look at the gesture and appreciate it, even if you don't like the specifics." She pauses. "But in this case, I texted his sister and asks how he likes his coffee, so I'm not worried."

"You could have just said that."

"If I didn't know, I would have just brought him black coffee, and he would have thanked me. Like he'll thank me even if he doesn't like the muffins. Trust me."

She's pretty sure it's true, but she's still a little nervous as they navigate to the hospital. Bellamy apparently works out of Arctic Antiques, a store Clarke has passed a few times but never gone into, and they don't open until noon on Saturdays, so he said to just call and he'd let them in. It's all as normal as it can be, which means Clarke's anxiety is just annoying her, since it has no basis in any kind of logic.

She's just always a little antsy about new people. Especially new people who are doing her a favor.

There's a guy lingering outside the door of the store when they pull up, looking at his phone with a posture Clarke associates with waiting but not wanting to look like you're waiting. He's probably in his thirties, and from what she can see of him, he's attractive, all messy black hair and perfect jawline. He's wearing a red flannel button down open over a white t-shirt, and a pair of worn jeans.

If that's Bellamy, Lincoln was holding out on her.

He looks up at the sound of the car, and Clarke sees thick black glasses and a bright smile. _Attractive_ was kind of an understatement. He looks like someone who chops his own wood, turns it into artisan furniture, and sells it at the farmer's market. In the hottest possible way.

"Is that him?" asks Madi.

"I don't know. He said we should call, so maybe that's some guy who's just really into antiques." She wets her lips. At least if he's this hot, the nerves are _logical_. "Only one way to find out. Can you get the muffins?"

She gets the coffees herself and slides out of the car, giving the guy a somewhat guarded smile.

"Bellamy?"

His voice is instantly identifiable. "Hey, yeah. Clarke?"

"Yeah. I'd shake your hand, but I brought you coffee."

"That's a lot better than a handshake." He takes the coffee and turns his attention to Madi, smile turning soft. "And you must be Madi."

"Hi," she says. She's not exactly _shy_ , but she's cautious. She and Clarke have that in common.

"I heard you had a patient for me. Did you bring her?" Madi nods, and he nods too. "Okay, cool. You can come see my workshop, and if it looks good, you can leave her here and I'll have her fixed up in a couple days. Sound good?"

She nods again, and remembers to add, "Thank you."

"Sure." He straightens and turns his smile on Clarke. "Come on, I work in the back. I do restoration for Roan too so he gives me a good deal on the room."

"Restoration?" Madi asks, apparently starting to feel more comfortable with him.

"Repairs and--making things look nice. I do it for some of the antiques that come in. I'm not great with wood, but textiles--cloth," he corrects, before Madi can ask. "Stuff gets worn out, so I patch it up. Clean off metal and plastic, get rid of wear and tear. I'd say it's my side job, but I make more money from it than I do from toy repairs."

"That's cool, though," Clarke says. "That you can actually make this work. I was kind of wondering how you made a living as a doll repairman."

"Internet, mostly. But, yeah. I'm just a part-time doll repairman." He holds the door open for them and lets them in first. "Second door on the right."

There's a sign on it reading _Bellamy Blake, Doll MD_ , with a teddy-bear border and everything.

"Wow, I never would have guessed," she says, dry, and he rolls his eyes.

"My sister made the sign when I first started doing the online thing. I just keep it around to embarrass her."

She's not sure how it's more embarrassing for Octavia than it is for him, but it's cute that he thinks it is. "When was that?"

He gives it some thought. "I was sixteen, I think? I was on a bunch of forums for customizing toys to get tips and someone posted about their kid totally destroying one of their vintage figures. I said I could fix it up, and when I did, they told me I should make a website." He shrugs. "It took a while, but I made a reputation for myself, and here we are." He gestures around the room. "Okay, so, this is it. I know I said I'd give you a tour, but there's not much to see."

But Madi's looking around with excitement, and it _is_ kind of cool. It feels surprisingly clinical, and Clarke finds herself smiling. This is _serious business_ for Bellamy Blake. He cares about it.

"I've got all my stuff in the table," he's telling Madi, when Clarke turns her attention back to the two of them. Bellamy is opening drawers, letting her examine the contents. "Obviously I don't have everything I need all the time. If people want clothing repair, that's hardest. I have string and some basic cloth, but finding the right fabric can be a pain. And sometimes, the parts I have are the wrong size."

"The wrong size?"

He considers her. "Some people think eyes are creepy. Do you?" When she shakes her head, Bellamy opens another drawer, and she gasps and reaches down.

Clarke goes over to look too, laughs aloud when she sees. "You know, I don't think eyes are creepy, but that's _a lot_ of eyes."

"Can I touch one?" Madi asks, stopping herself just before she does it without permission.

"Yeah, go ahead. That's what happened to your doll, right?" he adds, careful, but Madi's too distracted to be self-conscious about it. She's rifling through the eyes like they're marbles."

"Yeah."

"Can I see her?"

"Clarke, can you get her?" Madi asks, and Clarke unzips the bag to pull her out and hand her over to Bellamy.

He holds her carefully, like just his touch could injure the doll further. "Clarke said that someone at school did this?" 

Madi's fingers stop in the drawer of eyes, and Clarke can see the tension run up her back.

"That's awful," Bellamy goes on. "I'm really sorry. What's her name? The doll."

"Katie."

"Okay, well--do you want to sit down and tell me about her? And I'll take a look at her and so I can tell you what I need to do to fix her."

"Can I have a muffin?" she asks Clarke, and Clarke cocks her head at Bellamy.

"Is it okay to eat in here?"

"Yeah, let me just--"

He finds a cloth napkin in another drawer and lays it out. They get out the muffins, and Clarke cuts them in half so everyone can share.

"Thanks for bringing supplies," Bellamy says, and Clarke gives Madi a small smirk. "So, tell me about Katie."

Madi's eyes flick to Clarke, and then she looks back down, picking apart her muffin. "Did Clarke tell you about my mom?"

"Not a lot. She said she's fostering you."

"Yeah. Katie was a present from my mom. Before she died."

Clarke's stomach drops. She should have thought of that. She should have _asked_.

"Yeah, I get that. You're eight, right?"

"Yeah."

"When did your mom die?"

"When I was six."

He nods. "My mom died when I was nineteen. It was pretty tough. It must have been really hard to have it happen this young."

"What about your dad?" she asks.

"I don't know. He was never around. My sister's dad was, for a while. But he never liked me much, and then he left." He drums his fingers on the table, like he's thinking something over. "I have something of my dad's, though. At least, my mom told me it was his. It was--" A smile plays on his lips. "Honestly, it was so--I think she probably just wanted to stop me asking about him. But it's nice." He opens yet another one of the drawers in the table and slides a piece of cloth from it across the table to Madi.

"What is it?" she asks.

"It's called a handkerchief," says Clarke. "Right?"

"Yeah. Those are his initials," Bellamy adds, pointing out the embroidered letters in the corner. "Elijah Blake. That's what she told me."

"You didn't believe her?" Clarke asks.

He shrugs, with the same small smile. "My mom was a seamstress. I wouldn't stop asking about my dad, so--if she wanted to make something for me, this is what she'd make. It's easy and cheap. It could be she found it cleaning up, like she said, but--" He shrugs. "Honestly, when I imagine my dad, I don't really think of a guy who'd have a monogrammed handkerchief."

"But you kept it," she says.

"Yeah. Every time I thought about throwing it away, I just couldn't. Even if it's not his--I didn't always feel like my mom cared that much. Once my sister was born, she was always busy. I hated her sometimes, for leaving me to deal with so much. But--if it's not my dad's, then my mom made it to make me feel better. Either way, that's cool, right?"

Clarke smiles. "Yeah, that's cool."

He clears his throat. "Anyway. Katie looks like a really good friend. I could definitely spruce her up. As much as you want."

"As much as I want?" Madi asks.

"Sometimes people want their stuff to look like new. But sometimes they want them to just get the big problems fixed. Like the eyes and the hair, but leave the dirt on her face. Are you going to recognize her, if I fix her up all the way?"

Madi reaches over to stroke the spiky hair left on Katie's head, and Clarke puts her arm around the girl, giving her a gentle squeeze.

"I'd know her anywhere," Madi says, and Bellamy's smile is the softest thing Clarke's ever seen. 

"Okay," he says. "I'll take care of her."

*

There is no logical reason for Clarke to go back to the antiques store on Monday. Bellamy told her that he'd call when he was done with the repairs, probably Wednesday or Thursday, and that's the beginning and ending of what her involvement needs to be.

But--Bellamy feels like the kind of resource she's been looking for. Someone her age, someone with actual experience with kids, who's good at talking to Madi.

So it's completely selfless, obviously. It has nothing to do with Bellamy himself, not with his soft hair and softer smiles, not with the appealing roughness of his voice or the distracting number of freckles on his face.

This is just for Madi. Definitely.

The antiques store is open this time, and Clarke goes in through the front door like a normal customer. It's quiet and kind of musty, reminds her of being a kid. Her mom has a weird obsession with antiques stores that she's never understood, but it's not like she _dislikes_ them. She just doesn't have the patience to spend hours wandering through, trying to find hidden treasures. She's more of a get in, get out kind of shopper. 

The guy behind the desk nods at her approach. Clarke sort of thinks of antique store employees with old guys who can't hear, but this guy basically looks like he wandered in off a beach somewhere and pulled on the first shirt he found. And then cut a v-neck into it with scissors himself.

It's a lot of look.

"Welcome to Arctic Antiques. May I help you?"

"I was actually looking for Bellamy? He's working on a project for me and I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop by."

"A project?"

"My foster daughter's doll."

"Ah. Yes, he should be in the back. It's right through here."

He opens the staff-only door behind the desk and gestures her through, and Clarke recognizes the same hallway from the other side. Bellamy's door is open, and the guy from the counter has already returned there, so she goes back alone.

It's not that weird. They're sort of friends, right? Friends by association. She likes Octavia; she loves Lincoln. They're practically family. 

And she really does need someone to talk to.

Bellamy is leaning over the table, working on something Clarke can't really see. He has his glasses pushed up into his hair, and he's wearing some sort of magnifying goggles or something. He's in short sleeves now, and Clarke can see the frankly unfair bulge of his muscles as he works.

She waits until his hands are off whatever he's doing before she clears her throat.

"Um, hi," she says.

For a second, he just looks confused, but then he takes off the goggles and his smile breaks out. "Oh, hey, Clarke. What's up? Everything okay? You don't want me to destroy the doll because you think it's cursed or something, do you?"

She frowns. "Is that really your first guess?"

"Roan actually insists on making sure none of the dolls I get are cursed, so, yeah. That's a real thing."

"Wait, _how_?"

"Look, when someone gives me as good a deal on renting a room as Roan gives me _and_ pays me to refurbish shit on a regular basis, I don't argue him about with the rituals he wants to perform on my dolls. Those are his business."

It's so absurd Clarke _has_ to laugh, and Bellamy looks proud of himself, which he probably should. Clarke wouldn't say she laughs very often.

"Yeah, that seems like a good policy."

"So, if you aren't worried about ancient curses, what are you doing here?"

All of her excuses feel stupid, so she just sits on the stool next to him and gives him a somewhat sheepish smile. "Honestly? I'm jealous of how good you are with kids and I want to learn your secrets."

He laughs. "Yeah?" 

"I sort of jumped in to the deep end of the parenting pool, totally by accident."

"How'd that happen?"

"Okay, not _totally_ by accident. But--she's my first foster kid. It was supposed to be for a month or two, and then her dad decided he didn't care about getting her back, so--now she's mine. And that wasn't really the plan."

"So why did you keep her?"

"Her dad just told her he didn't want her. I wasn't going to tell her I didn't want her either. They said they had to find a home for her, and--I can be that. I _am_ being that. But--I'm still learning. I had no idea why that doll meant so much to her."

"She might not have wanted to tell you," he says. "Not--it's tough, I guess. I don't know if it's the same for her, but I never wanted to tell adults anything about home when I was her age, because I knew it was fucked up, and I didn't want them to take my sister away. So maybe she's afraid that if she talks too much about her mom, you won't think she loves you or something."

"See? This is exactly the kind of insight I need. If you don't mind," she adds. "I know I barged into your workplace and demanded you talk to me about parenting."

"Yeah, that's a new one. Don't you have a job or something?"

"I'm a freelance graphic designer, so I work from home. That reminds me, I actually did some logo designs for your website."

He shoots her a smile that falls somewhere between amused and dubious. "Really?"

"It's a good site, but the logo isn't great."

"Yeah, Miller's a better coder than artist."

"See? You get a new logo, I get some help."

"I had no idea we were living in a barter economy now," he says, dry. 

"I like to think of it as a preemptive thank you."

"Whatever makes you feel better. You want to hand me the paint brush in the second drawer on your left?"

Clarke opens up the drawer and frowns. "What size?"

He frowns at the thing he's working on, which seems to be a pocket mirror, something small and delicate. "I think four?"

"Which part are you working on?"

"The flowers here," he says. "I want to redo the white so it's more vibrant."

"I'd do a two for that," she says, and he smiles.

"Graphic designer, right. A two would be great, thanks. Are you just going to hang out here while I work and tell me when parenting problems occur to you?"

She thinks about it for a second, and then shrugs. "Yeah, that was basically the plan. Do you mind?"

"I don't mind," he says. "Not as long as you hand me paintbrushes when I need them."

*

He finishes up with Katie on Thursday, and Clarke picks Madi up at school so they can go and get her together. She hasn't been back since Monday, but she emailed Bellamy a revised logo yesterday, and he emailed back to ask if feedback was allowed when she was giving him a gift, because if so he had a few thoughts about color choices. So she's feeling pretty good about seeing him again; they're definitely on the way to becoming friends.

At some point, she assumes she'll stop being nervous about it. Once she gets over the kind of mild crush she's dealing with.

Roan's at the counter again, and finding out that he actually performs exorcisms to make sure that Bellamy's dolls are not cursed doesn't make him make any more sense. Maybe home-made v-necks are a vital part of the exorcism process. She wouldn't know. She's not an exorcist.

"Hi," she says. "We're just picking up our doll from Bellamy."

"His patients don't usually come for in-person service," Roan observes, but he gestures vaguely at the door. "But welcome back, glad to see you. I hope your doll is to your satisfaction, young lady."

"Thanks," says Madi, wary. Her natural distrust of scruffy dudes who modify their own shirts and perform amateur witchcraft will serve her well in the dating scene.

Bellamy's door is open again, and he's sitting at the table like usual, bent over a cushion of some kind. But Katie is there too, wearing what appears to be a hospital gown, and sitting in a miniature wheelchair.

She's never been so charmed in her life, and he's not even trying.

"Katie!" says Madi, breaking away from Clarke to go to the doll. 

"Her clothes are in the suitcase," Bellamy says, turning his attention from Madi to Clarke. His smile is a little sheepish, like he knows this is a lot. "When I got popular I kind of stole some ideas from the American Girl dolls. They have their own repair service, it's really nice. They have gowns and hospital bracelets and--it's not hard for me to make my own. People like it."

"And the wheelchair?"

"Roan got it for the store a while back, it never sold, so it was just gathering dust. I thought she'd like it."

Clarke leans up and presses her lips against his cheek, quick and impulsive. "I can't thank you enough."

"You can. That's how the money gets involved." But he smiles. "It's kind of nice to actually get to see it. Usually I just send them off and if I'm lucky I get a nice review about how happy the kid was."

"I'll definitely write a nice review for you. Madi," she says, pulling the girl's attention from where she's chattering at the doll. "Don't forget to say thank you too."

"Thank you, Bellamy!" she says. "She's perfect. I love her."

"If it ever happens again, just bring her back," he says. "But I hope it doesn't."

"I'll be careful. Thank you so much."

"Of course. I know how important she is, I'm just glad I could help."

"Do you have any other dolls you're working on right now?" Madi asks, much to Clarke's relief. She didn't really want to leave yet. They just got here. "Can I see?"

"I should finish up this first," he says. "But you can help, if you want. And Clarke doesn't mind."

"I don't mind," she says. "I want to see the dolls too."

His smile is warm. "Cool. Then you guys can help me out."

They stick around until Bellamy is done for the evening, and they both thank him again for good measure, and he tells Clarke he'll send her some more ideas about the logo tomorrow. Clarke feels kind of ridiculously grateful for the confirmation that they'll still have stuff to talk about, and she's in a great mood even before Madi asks, in the car, "Can we make dinner for Bellamy?"

"What?"

"To thank him. It's polite, right? Like the coffee." She strokes Katie's hair. "I know you paid him, but--"

"No, I think that would be nice. I'll ask him if he wants to come over this weekend, maybe." She remembers positive reinforcement is a thing and squeezes Madi's shoulder. "That's a really good idea. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Madi smiles down at her doll. "I think so too."

*

Clarke hasn't ever been much of a cook, but having Madi has been slowly changing that. Having someone to cook for makes it easier to motivate herself, and they've been slowly expanding their recipe list. It's a fun thing to do as a family, and it's one of the things she feels good at. It's the time she feels most like she can do this.

Which is why it's so embarrassing when Bellamy shows up for dinner on Saturday night and it's not going well _at fucking all_.

"We had a problem with dinner," Madi says, solemn.

Bellamy's mouth twitches a little as he meets Clarke's eyes. "A problem?" he asks.

"I was trying to use the pressure cooker but I didn't pressurize it correctly so the meat is in kind of--cooking limbo. I've been trying to figure out how much longer I should cook it for, but I don't want to overcook it. Sorry," she adds. "I know this is always what you want to hear when you show up for a dinner somewhere."

"Honestly, it is." He shrugs off the flannel shirt he's wearing--blue, this time--and looks for a place to hang it. Madi takes it and puts it on the rack, and he smiles at Clarke. "O says I'm kind of a control freak with food, so show me what we're working with, and I'll see what I can do."

Clarke's really expecting it to be awkward. She and Bellamy have known each other for about a week, and haven't interacted much during that time. Even with the small, simmering crush, it's not as if she really _knows_ him. And cooking feels like it should be a possibly literal trial by fire.

But Bellamy inspects the pressure cooker, the meat, and the ingredients they've prepped, and nods once.

"So, how attached are you guys to stew?"

Clarke and Madi exchange a look. "Not attached," says Clarke.

"Cool. You have soy sauce? When in doubt, you can turn basically anything into stir fry."

And that's that. Madi stands on her stool to his left, and Clarke to his right, and he explains to them what he's doing and how they can do it, talks them through the different cook times on his ingredients and why he's adding things in the order he is. The meal they end up with isn't what Clarke planned or what Bellamy says he would have made in an ideal world, but as stew-inspired stir-fry goes, it's pretty good.

Madi clears the table while Clarke gets started soaking the dishes, and Bellamy asks if he can help.

"You're the guest," says Clarke.

"I like feeling useful."

"You already made dinner."

"And that was fun. I bet dishes are fun too."

And they are, of course. It's possible everything just feels like fun with Bellamy.

It's been so long since she had a real crush. She's not used to it.

But at least Madi is the one who invites him to watch a movie.

"You know it's getting close to your bedtime," Clarke says, and Madi frowns at the clock on the microwave.

"We could watch an episode of Chopped?" she weedles, and Clarke smiles.

"Bellamy might have to leave," she says.

He regards her, like he's trying to figure out if this is part of a power play that he should be attempting to diffuse, so Clarke just smiles wider.

"I could watch an episode of Chopped, sure."

Madi falls asleep during the dessert round, which was about what Clarke expected. 

"So, how bad was this?" she asks Bellamy, with a wry smile. "As a thank you gesture? On a scale from one to ten."

"Does ten mean I had fun or it was terrible?" he asks. "I had a great night, it feels weird to say that was a one. Do you want me to carry her to her room or anything?" he adds. "Or would that be weird for you?"

"More for you than for me. But yeah, she's kind of heavy. I usually just have to wake her up."

"Yeah. I don't mind getting her."

He scoops her up with an ease and care that makes Clarke think raising a kid must be like riding a bike; even years later, the muscle memory remains, instinctual.

"Where am I going?" 

Clarke flips on the light switch and gets the covers pulled back so Bellamy can set her down on the bed. Clarke will want to go in later to see about getting her to brush her teeth, maybe, but--just this once.

They had a nice night. Madi's allowed to be worn out.

Back in the living room, she feels a little awkward, unsure if he wants to just leave, and she can see Bellamy shifting too. But there's every indication he's enjoying himself, and no indication he wants to leave.

"Finish the Chopped?" she offers, and when it's done, he says he could do one more.

The conversation is easy and casual, opinions on the ingredients and the dishes. Clarke and Madi tend to watch the show as something like inspiration, getting new ideas for ways they can use food that they don't know about, but Bellamy, as a person who actually knows how to cook, has ideas for what he'd do with the boxes and informed opinions on what seems like it would work, and it's--

It's adorable, honestly. Clarke is 100% here for cute boys yelling at the TV because the chefs are using their off-brand Fruit Loops wrong, and 110% here for the way he's keeping his voice down because Madi is asleep.

It doesn't feel exactly like a date, but it feels related to a date. It feels like what dating could be, in a post-Madi world. What she'd like dating to be, honestly. Someone who seems to like her daughter, who seems to enjoy spending time with the both of them.

But she's getting ahead of herself.

"So, you guys should stop thanking me," he says, when he's finally ready to go. "I'm glad I could help, but it's my job and you paid me, so we're even."

"Okay, got it. No more appreciation. We're done with that. I don't appreciate you at all."

He laughs, ducking his head a little. "Better. I just meant--don't worry about it. We can just be friends. If you want to hang out, we can hang out. Not everything in my life revolves around being a doll doctor. We can move past that."

"I'm never moving past that," she teases. "If we're friends, I'm definitely going to talk about how you're a doll doctor all the time. Don't all your friends make fun of you about that?"

"Incessantly," he says, smiling. "That might be the biggest sign we're really friends now, actually."

"Cool. So--thanks for coming to hang out. And for absolutely nothing else."

"Thanks for having me," he says. "We should, uh--we should do it again sometime."

"Yeah," she agrees. "I'd like that."

*

It's not like Clarke is hoping for Madi to face some sort of horrible crisis, but despite what Bellamy said, she doesn't really know how to just spend time with him. She _wants_ to, kind of stupid amounts. She texts Raven about the hot boy she likes, and when Raven tells her to just ask him out, she switches to Monty, who tells her to pine away without saying anything and play a lot of video games to drown her pain. Which sounds a lot more likely, but with alcohol instead of video games.

On Tuesday, Bellamy texts, and it feels like she's sixteen again, giddy because the person she liked is talking to her. But in a nice way. The good kind of high-school flashback.

 **Bellamy** : You want to see a creepy doll?

 **Me** : YOU think it's creepy?

 **Bellamy** : Yup  
Even by my standards, this one is fucking terrifying

 **Me** : Wow  
Yeah, I have to see that  
Your standards have got to be incredibly high

 **Bellamy** : Yeah I'm pretty jaded at this point  
But this is a lot  
[image]

 **Me** : Holy shit  
Did it come with the head all twisted around like that?

 **Bellamy** : Yeah  
According to the email it's "stuck and they can't turn it back"  
Roan is preparing a special exorcism

 **Me** : Really?

 **Bellamy** : No, it's the same one  
But I told him he can do it twice if he wants  
And we might do shots after

 **Me** : As long as you've got a plan

 **Bellamy** : Yeah, it's going to be fun  
In like half an hour  
If you're not busy

It's only ten in the morning, and Clarke definitely has work to do. But it's all on her laptop, and she can bring that anywhere.

 **Me** : Should I bring anything?  
What do you need for an exorcism?

 **Bellamy** : I think we're good  
Honestly I just want a witness for this one  
Someone else should appreciate it

 **Me** : I can be a witness  
See you in twenty minutes

She brings enough stuff that she can just hang out until Madi's done with school, and picks up a couple cookies with her coffee just because she can. Friends buy friends cookies. It's not her thanking him; it's her trying to make him like her.

Roan's at the counter, with a woman who seems to be scowling at literally the entire universe. She reminds Clarke of her ex-girlfriend, but even more angry, and a little taller.

"I hear you're joining us for the exorcism," Roan says, like this is a normal way to start a conversation.

"I've never been to an exorcism before. I don't want to miss out."

"Well, I hope I don't disappoint," says Roan.

He holds the door open for her, and she makes her way to Bellamy's workroom. The door is ajar, and when she pushes it open she sees him lighting candles, wearing a home-made v-neck of his own.

"Is that the exorcism uniform?" she asks, flicking the collar. "Do I need one?"

"No, I just spilled coffee on my t-shirt. What, is this not a good look for me?" he teases.

As with most t-shirts, it's tight across his chest and makes his arms look unreal, so Clarke figures she should stay quiet so as not to incriminate herself.

"Are these special candles?" she asks instead, and Bellamy smirks.

"They're Roan's. I don't ask."

"The important thing is the fire, not the candles," Roan says.

"Where did you find this exorcism?" she asks, startled. She hadn't realized he'd come in. "How do you start doing exorcisms? How do you know they're working?"

"I run an antiques store," says Roan, with perfect seriousness. "It's important to be careful when you could be dealing with cursed items. And I believe my track record speaks for itself."

Clarke glances at Bellamy, and he shrugs. "Nothing we've ever sold has murdered anyone. Or caused their death. So--that means the curse-breaking must be working."

"Or none of it was ever cursed."

"That would be the other option, yeah," he says. "This one is probably going to be the test. If this isn't cursed, nothing is."

"Don't make assumptions," Roan says. "If I wanted to curse an object, I would curse a normal-looking one. What good is a cursed doll if anyone can tell it's cursed." He pauses. "Then again, I'm biased. All dolls look cursed to me."

"Yeah, that's legit," says Bellamy. He takes Clarke's arm to guide her to the side of the room, away from the table. "You ready, Roan?"

In a way, the weirdest part of the whole exorcism is how used to it everyone is. It's not actually surprising, she supposes, that this would be a regular part of their lives, if Roan _actually_ feels like it's his duty to make sure nothing he sells is cursed. They probably do this all the time. But she has trouble believing this is really a routine thing.

Bellamy must be thinking along those same lines, because he leans in close as Roan chants in Latin to murmur, "You can tell he's actually worried about this one because he's exorcising it alone. Usually he just does them in batches."

"I was wondering how you had time to do this for every single thing in the store."

"You can't be too careful with curses, Clarke," he says.

"Apparently not."

Roan shouts something in their direction, still in Latin, and Bellamy replies, and they go back and forth a few more times, Roan throws some salt into a candle, and then over his shoulder, and then on the doll, and then it's apparently over.

"Always cool to see that through someone else's eyes," Bellamy says, once all the candles have been put out and the room is back to normal. Roan just wanders out, like this is all normal. Which, again, it probably is.

"To remind yourself that your life is fucked up?"

"You can get used to basically anything, as it turns out. Usually that's about living in a fascist regime or whatever, but it also applies to fucking weird work situations."

"That's what you get for deciding to be a doll doctor."

"Yeah, when you put it like that, it's my fault. Have fun? Worth driving down for?"

"Oh yeah, definitely." She pulls her laptop out, deliberate. "It's not that far from the school, I thought I'd just work here until Madi's done. If I'm not going to bother you. I brought cookies," she adds.

"Well, if you brought cookies. And company's kind of nice," he adds, and it feels like possibility. It feels _awesome_ , honestly.

"Yeah," she agrees. "I thought so too."

*

"My brother likes you."

Clarke blinks at Octavia. They're at a cookout at Lincoln's place, and Madi is playing frisbee with Gina, Wells, and Maya, so she's not worried about being overheard, but it is kind of weird.

"Yeah," she finally says. "We've been hanging out. He's cool. And he's good with kids, so--it's nice having a resource for parenting questions."

It's basically true. In the two weeks since the exorcism, she's stopped by to work in his office four times, and while they mostly just chat, she has called him in for questions about allowance rates and dealing with bullies, and he's had good insight into both. He came over for dinner on Saturday, and then on the next Friday, and it's been nice. She even thinks it might be the tentative first steps toward romance, just the kind of romance she hasn't tried yet, the kind that involves a daughter.

Octavia is apparently thinking the same thing, because she shakes her head. "I mean he _likes you_. He said he's coming today."

"Yeah, I assumed he was."

"He _never_ comes to this stuff. I've been asking him forever and he's always like, oh, I'm busy, I have a project to work on, Miller wants to play video games. And now I ask him to come to stuff and instead of saying no he asks who's coming. And then he waits until I say you won't be here to tell me he's busy, so--" She cocks her head. "I was _trying_ to set you guys up, but he's such a stubborn dick. I didn't think it was ever going to work."

Clarke blinks a few times. It's a lot of information to take in. "You were trying to set us up?"

"You decided to foster a kid just because Harper got married and moved out," says Octavia, with a role of her eyes. "I don't care if you weren't planning to keep her, that's totally Bell's type."

It's not particularly comforting. "His type is anyone with a kid?" she asks.

Her intention was to be kind of casual and wryly amused, but Octavia sees right through it and huffs. "Oh, okay, cool. You like my brother too. That's good. I don't have to give you a lecture about hurting him. But don't worry, I was trying to get him to come hang out before the kid too, but the kid was just, like--come _on_. You guys were made for each other."

Usually, that kind of sentiment makes Clarke bristle--she's heard it too often in relationships that go wrong. Finn told Raven the two of them were meant to be, until he met Clarke and decided _they_ were meant to be inside. When Lexa wanted her back after their first breakup, she said they were soulmates, and Clarke had been swayed, until their second breakup.

People aren't made for each other, as far as she's concerned. But she does think she and Bellamy fit. That they'd be good together.

"Good to know," she finally tells Octavia. And then, because Octavia started it, she adds, "I do like your brother."

"Cool." She takes Clarke by the shoulders and turns her around. "Go say hi."

The sight of him is a surprise, of course. He's got another guy with him, someone she hasn't met, and they're both smiling as they greet Lincoln. Bellamy's in cargo shorts and a blue t-shirt, his hair just as messy as always, his glasses sliding down his face. It's the same way he always looks, basically, but that just means he always looks good.

Octavia gives her a little push, and Clarke manages to grab three beers before she goes over, offering one to Bellamy and another to his friend.

"Thanks. Hey," he adds, with a smile. "Good to see you."

"I always come to these," she says. "You're the surprise here."

He ducks his head. "Well, I'm usually busy."

"Uh huh," says his friend. "Sure you are." He offers his hand. "You must be Clarke. I'm Nate Miller, I heard you didn't like my logo."

"I liked it, I just thought I could do better," she says, with a bright smile and a firm shake of his hand.

Miller snorts. "Oh, yeah, never mind. That's so much better. I'm not offended at all. Bellamy promised there were going to be video games inside so I didn't have to see the sun," he adds, turning his attention to Lincoln.

"The sun is good for you!" Bellamy protests. "Vitamin D, Miller."

"I get plenty of vitamin D," he says, with a smirk.

"Dude, you haven't gotten laid in months. You were complaining about it last week."

"Just because you were--" Miller seems to rethink his argument and coughs. "Anyway. I don't care about the sun and I heard someone brought Mario Kart."

"Monty did, yeah," says Clarke. If Bellamy's web-designer BFF is hot, gay, single, and into video games, it's Clarke's patriotic duty to get him into contact with Monty as soon as possible. "I think he and Jasper and Raven are in there, also hating the sun."

"Awesome, those are my people. Have fun with your burning day star," he adds, clapping Bellamy on the shoulder.

Lincoln offers to show him inside, leaving her and Bellamy alone and kind of awkwardly hanging out by the garden gate with their beers. Although Clarke finds she believes that he really might have come just to see her, and that he would have done that because he's interested in her, that doesn't really mean she has any idea what she should be saying or doing at the moment. Just asking if he wants to go make out while Madi is busy seems like it would be weird.

Maybe Bellamy's thinking the same thing, because he asks, "Where's Madi?"

"Playing frisbee. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if we joined in."

"In a minute," he says. "Did my sister talk to you?"

She keeps her voice light. "About what?"

It must not work, because he groans. "Fuck. She totally did."

"Not in a bad way."

"Yeah? What did she say?"

She considers. "That you asked if I was going to be here before you agreed to come."

"For O, that's pretty restrained." He worries his lip. "I probably would have come anyway. I would have just texted to ask why you weren't going to be here."

"I just assumed you were coming, so I wouldn't have known to text until I got here."

She can see him relaxing as they talk, and she feels it too, the combination of relief and exhilaration. She did think he liked her. He even thought he might _like_ her. But she hadn't really thought they'd get to the conversation point this soon. She was all ready for a few months of inept flirting and increasingly flimsy excuses to spend time together.

Instead he says, "If you'd texted, I would have showed up," and she laughs.

"So we could maybe just tell each other what we're doing. Make some real plans to hang out. Go to picnics, watch Chopped--"

"Get dinner," he says. "If you can get a babysitter. Not that I don't like doing dinner with Madi," he adds quickly. "Dinner with Madi is great, but--"

Clarke slides her free hand into his, squeezing his calloused fingers. "Do you want to go on a date with me, Bellamy?"

His smile is bright and wide and just a little sheepish. "That's what I was trying to ask, yeah. I would _love_ to go on a date with you. Whenever you've got time."

"How do lunch dates work for you?"

"I could do lunch dates."

Madi is in the back and definitely can't see them, and she doesn't care if anyone else does, so she leans up to press her mouth against his, just for a second. His lips are a little rough too, and he's got the start of stubble on his cheeks, and she can't wait until they can do this without an audience and for at least half an hour.

"Are you free on Monday?" she asks. "Like noon?"

He looks a little dazed, but shakes himself out of it. "Not anymore."

She grins. "Perfect. It's a date."

*

"I'm never making anything myself again," Bellamy says, startling Clarke out of her half-doze by her laptop. He puts the bed down on the table next to her, for good measure. "Seriously, derivative work is better. I don't see why anyone ever makes anything from scratch. It's the fucking worst."

"If no one made anything themselves, you wouldn't have anything to fix up," she points out, sitting up and examining the finished piece. Despite Bellamy's complaints, it's exactly what she wanted; she did the sketches for him and he put it together. It's a bunk bed, the perfect size for Katie and the new doll Clarke bought Madi for her birthday a couple months ago, with carved headboards and miniature mattresses and pillows. It's adorable, if she does say so herself. "And you did it because I'm your girlfriend, and you love me, and you love Madi."

"Getting laid has definitely been a major motivation for a lot of artists throughout history," he agrees. "I'm part of a proud tradition."

"You'd get laid anyway." She leans up for a kiss. "But really, thanks. I know you don't like carpentry."

"It wasn't that bad, mostly. The challenge is kind of nice. And, like you said, you're my girlfriend and I love you. And Madi's going to love it too. Plus this way I don't have to get her anything."

Clarke laughs. "I don't think you're required to buy her something for the anniversary of her coming to live with me. It happened six months before you even met us."

"I got her something for her birthday and that happened eight years before I met her, so--"

She elbows. "You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean. But I'm going to get her my own present next year, assuming I'm living with you guys. I know it's not about me, but I still want to celebrate her coming into my life, and that's the logical time to do it."

"You can get her something this year too, Bellamy," Clarke says, feeling a surge of fondness all through her chest. "She'll be thrilled."

"I'm saying this is from both of us for now," he says. "But next year."

She tugs him down for another kiss. "Next year for sure. And you know when we formalize the adoption, your name is going on the certificate, right? That's going to be your anniversary too."

It's the kind of thing that she thinks _should_ feel too soon. They've only been dating for about five months, and she's had plenty of relationships that made it this long and didn't last. But with those, she'd felt the cracks as fault lines, as inevitable disasters. With Bellamy, nothing feels as if they won't be able to deal with it. Problems feel solvable, and she thinks that must be how the best relationships are, the ones that last. She's never going to find anyone who's perfect, with whom she never argues, but she's found someone she wants to keep in spite of both their faults.

She's planning to marry him someday soon. She's looking forward to it.

And he is too. They've talked about it as a theoretical future point, like they've talked about adoption. So it's no surprise when his face softens, and he slides his arms around her, nudging his nose under her jaw. "That's true. I'm going to have plenty of chances to spoil the shit out of the kid."

"And this _is_ from both of us," she says. "You're the one who made it. You're already spoiling her plenty." She kisses his jaw and stands, stretching. Madi is sleeping over with Raven and Gina so they can spend the next morning getting the apartment ready for her surprise fostering anniversary party, so they don't need to relieve a babysitter, but it's still late and she's ready to get home.

"I'm doing my best, anyway," he agrees. "Ready to go?"

She stows her laptop in the bag and picks up the bed, testing the weight of it in her hands. It really is perfect. Exactly what she wanted. "Yeah," she says. "Let's go home."


End file.
